Often
by gracefullyclumsy
Summary: "You're damn right. Look at you," He gestured to her, like the answer was written on her forehead. "You're wound up like a top, everyone can see it. When was the last time someone has been in between your legs?"


Clarke jolted awake at the sound of the trap door dropping.

She had fallen asleep in the dropship again, after a long day shut away from any light except for the few dusty rays that filtered through the ceiling onto the painfully dull metal walls. A small group of careless hunters stumbled back bloodied and distraught — someone tripped the trap Jasper had set up earlier that week in hopes that an unsuspecting animal would fall in. But it had just been one of their _own_ unsuspecting animals.

Cleaning everyone up would have been simple enough — if she had the right supplies. Crudely made stitches, a pint of Monty's homemade sterilizing moonshine, and an especially queasy patient was enough to exhaust Clarke to the point where, after cleaning up, the cold metal floor would have to suffice as a bed for the night.

"Sleep well, princess?"

Clarke groaned at the familiar sound of that gruff, sarcastic voice, and managed to roll over onto her stomach with a thud.

"Listen, this ain't a twenty-four hour clinic," She felt heavy footsteps cross the small space. "We can't afford to have our people sleep-deprived."

Clarke, sore muscles still heavy from sleep, only managed to roll back over to see Bellamy looming over her, eyes dark and intense as usual. She wasn't sure what time it was, but by the way the cold air clung to his bulky clothes, it was early.

She pressed her palms over her eyes and rubbed until little stars flew across her vision. Maybe, she thought, if I sit here long enough like this, he'll leave. She ran her tongue over her teeth, still fuzzy from sleep. Felt a small patch of dried drool on the corners of her lips. Despite the quick and dirty adjustment she had been forced to make from the Ark to Earth, Clarke still found herself missing the basic items of everyday life. Toothpaste, for example.

"What is it, Bellamy?" She sighed, eyes still pressed shut as she sat up. Her back popped and cracked uncomfortably as it shifted back into place.

"Get up," He ordered. "Since we underestimated the intelligence of our only hunters, we need to get going. Rations are running low and it's getting colder out."

In between yawns, Clarke said, "What happened to training-"

"Nobody is ready yet," He said, roughly pulling the blonde to her feet. "Plus, you're the only one I wouldn't mind sacrificing to the grounders if we get in trouble."

"Oh, well then," Clarke said sourly. "Why didn't you just say so?"

* * *

Quietly, the pair trekked across the freeing ground. Clarke liked this part of the morning, when the sky was still a pearly gray and her breath visibly floated into the air. She popped the hood of her jacket over her head, hoping to preserve at least some of her body heat.

A good distance ahead of her, Bellamy carefully scanned the forest for anything that could pass for dinner.

"Shh," Clarke suddenly snapped at a familiar sound bellowing in the distance.

Bellamy stopped. "I wasn't talking-"

"Acid fog," She whispered.

They both looked at each other, panic quickly rising in her chest. They were too far away from the drop ship to run now, but her only instinct — an instinct she had quickly developed since coming down — was to run. Her legs tingled at the feeling, toes curling. Every nerve-ending in her body prepared for a natural disaster that could come from any direction.

She looked back at Bellamy and mouthed, "Run."

* * *

They holed up in a bunker Bellamy had found the other day. Similar to the one Finn had found shortly after they landed. While Bellamy took that opportunity to make himself comfortable, Clarke lit a rusty lantern and carefully looked around in the small space that could be brought home.

"Don't waste your time, princess. All the food is expired. The flashlights are dead. Nothing useful but a couple of blankets and some jackets."

"Anything we can find is useful," Clarke neatly refolded the jackets, feeling his gaze follow her the whole time. But to her dismay, he was right — there was nothing to help them survive the winter. Her chest tightened as her hands moved more frantically, rummaging through boxes and crannies in hopes that Bellamy was wrong.

She took inventory: two blankets, two windbreakers, one parka, three sets of flashlights (all dead), an empty journal and a pencil (she would have to stash that for later), and—

"Bellamy, look," Clarke's hand wrapped around a small contraption at the very bottom of the trunk and pulled it out. It was an emergency crank radio with a mixtape slot on the back. It was cold to the touch from disuse and covered in dust, but judging by the weight, there were still batteries in it.

She held it out for him to see. "This is huge! We can _use this_ to contact the Ark!"

Bellamy didn't look impressed.

"If not, then we'll salvage it's parts," She clipped, retracting her arm when he tried to snatch it from her. "Wonder if it still works…"

Clarke pulled out the crank. Part of her knew, as she began carefully cranking, that she would be met with silence. In the event that it did work, it would be nothing but radio fuzz. But she held onto hope. It had been so long since she listened to music.

"What did I just tell you? Everything in here is useless and broken—"

But just then, so softly she almost missed it, trumpets began whispering through the dusty radio, murmuring _oh, she may be weary, and young girls they do get weary._ It was unrecognizable, but it was warm and it filled every corner of the room like the yellow lantern. She spared a glance to Bellamy, saw the tiniest hint of a adoration on his face before it fell the moment their eyes met.

"See? Hope." She held up the radio like it was the symbol of faith itself before gently setting it down on the table near the iron-frame bed.

"So you got a piece of metal to work," Bellamy drawled. "No food, no medicine, no clothes. But, shit, at least we have music."

"Hey. I'm just as worried as you are, alright?" She then mumbled to herself. "God, you're not happy unless you're screwing one of our girls."

"By the looks of it," He stood, looming over her in what Clarke assumed was supposed to be intimidating. She tilted her chin up, eyes narrowed. "You could use a good lay."

"Is that so?" She said indignantly.

"You're damn right. Look at you," He gestured to her, like the answer was written on her forehead. "You're wound up like a top, everyone can see it. When was the last time someone's been in between your legs?"

A slow smirk twisted on his lips. "Apart from Finn, I mean."

"_I__'__m _trying to keep everyone alive," She hissed. "I'm not apologizing for the fact that I haven't found the time for sex."

"And judging by how defensive you're getting," Pretending as if he didn't hear her, he continued, circling her like an animal and it's prey. "Finn clearly didn't do a very good job of satisfying you."

"And what — you could do better?" She scoffed, feeling a warmth crawling up the nape of her neck.

His lips were suddenly at her ear, whispering, "I could do much more than satisfy you, princess."

* * *

She'll hate herself later for giving herself up so easily, but as she lay under Bellamy in a war of angry kisses, safely hidden away from the rest of the world, the need to prove anything to him diminished almost instantly, and she felt herself slow against his mouth.

Clarke had, admittedly, little experience in the arena of romance. Past boyfriends have messily fondled her breasts, grabbed her in places she didn't want to be grabbed at the time, and then set her aside when it was enough to make them come in their pants during a makeout session in the med bay storage room.

She admitted that a part of her still harbored feelings for Finn — during the rare occasion that their emotions boiled to the surface, he was there to tame the fire in her heart. Where her skin was devoid of human contact, he provided, made her remember that she was human in a time when humanity was hard to find. It was all tears on her cheeks and the hasty ripping off of clothes. It satisfied her.

Until his girlfriend feel out of the sky.

But with the soft, scratchy music warmly playing in the background, Bellamy moved like molasses over her, gently kissing down the bridge of her nose with a gentleness she didn't know he even possessed. Her mind grew fuzzy, the closest thing to bliss she had felt in a long time. And in an even longer time, the closest thing she had felt to safety with his broad, muscular body hovering over her.

Clarke wasn't in a hurry. They weren't tearing each other apart — it didn't feel right. It felt like an experience she didn't even know she was missing out on: having a completely stubborn and infuriating but also completely skilled boy taking his time with her, fingers sliding across the tender skin of her lower back, across her hips, gently pressing down on her tummy, smirking into the hollow of her throat with every small gasp he pulled out of her.

Under him, her muscles finally let go. It felt like her lungs were finally accepting air again. Since landing back on earth, she had seen so many terrible things, she had done so many terrible things in the name of survival. There was so much blood on her hands. She felt like Atlas, burdening the world on her shoulders alone and in total silence. But in this moment, Bellamy seemed to volunteer in lifting the weight off of her, and he did it carefully, lovingly, wonderfully.

Before she completely turned to jelly, Clarke felt her hands curiously sliding under his shirt with a featherlight touch as he continued to work on her neck. Her hands ghosted over his strong abdomen, taut as he kept himself poised over her. Her touch finally landing on his skin was the final push into the abyss. His mouth captured hers in a smoldering kiss, letting a little more of his weight lower onto her own.

Slowly and very deliberately, Bellamy played with the frayed hem of her shirt, giving a little tug, as if waiting for her approval. Clarke's mind sharpened at the gesture — despite how relax he had gotten her in such a short amount of time, a small, self-conscious part of her wasn't ready to expose herself to him to easily. Another part of her rationalized: he could not have been any more patient with her. She would still be hesitant.

"Princess," He mumbled lazily. All sarcasm previously hidden behind the nickname was now gone. "Your thoughts are deafening."

Clarke let herself smile. "Is this how you usually seduce the girls?"

"They usually get undressed a little quicker," He teased into her neck. "But that's okay. I like a challenge."

"I can make this much more difficult if you want," Clarke said, a little unconvincingly.

"Trust me, you've been making this pretty difficult for me long enough," He whispered. Her heart soared.

And just like that, they fall back into their rhythm. Eventually, her patience grew thin under him, and the tiny wiggles of her hips were enough to let him know. Languidly, and without breaking their kiss, he skillfully started peeling away her layers until she was down to her ratty bra.

Clarke could finally understand why Bellamy was so popular amongst the females of the hundred: when you took away the ego, he made her feel like she was the only mystery in the world that he wanted to solve. He studied every patch of skin until it was warm and ready, not rushing to undress her but waiting until she gave the okay to move forward. Wether or not he wanted to get her completely dripping, she wasn't sure. But it was working.

Once again, her hands were under his shirt, more bravely this time, scratching his back just gently enough to elicit the tiniest of groans. This time, she was the one to pull on his shirt, not nearly as patiently as he had. The lack of skin was suddenly becoming overwhelming for her.

He complied with a soft chuckle, wrapping a strong arm around her middle to lift the two of them into a seated position. He sat still, letting her lift the shirt over his head. It was such a small act, but watching as he sat so still while she undressed him felt the most sensual thing she had ever done. Her hand reached out, tangled itself in his thick hair, studying his dark eyes.

"You good?" He murmured, fingers trailing up and down her spine.

"I'm good," The gentleness in his voice made her want to cry.

He kissed her lightly. The warm soulful voice in the old radio had switched over to another song — a woman's scratchy voice that filled the air like a warm wind, singing _see the pyramids along the Nile, watch the sunrise from a tropic isle__…__._

"You belong to me…" He sang lowly into her collarbone. Looking up through his eyelashes, he smiled. "My mom used to sing this to me and Octavia."

Clarke's hand reached down, cupped his strong jaw, and brought his face close to hers. His breath fanned over her face, lips quivering for another kiss. She stroked his high cheekbones, the freckles that were dusted over his beautifully tanned skin. A fire deep in her belly rose.

"Take off my pants," She said shakily.

Bellamy hesitated, as if waiting for her to change her mind. But Clarke lay, giving him a small nod, and those strong hands began carefully working on the button of her dirtied jeans, sliding them down her legs and setting them elsewhere. There was a short pause where all he could do was reach out with both hands, place them on the top of her pale thighs and give them a delicate squeeze.

"I'm suddenly…" He breathed, smiling. "Suddenly very aware of what we're doing."

Clarke laughed. Yes, she wanted to say. She was, too. But this time, she wasn't as self-conscious as she thought she'd be, stretched out under the boy whose neck she wanted wring ever since they entered earth's atmosphere. Laying in nothing but her tiny, white ark-issued underwear, a deep flush crawling up her neck.

He leaned down, placing kisses on the tops of her breasts drowsily. Clarke closed her eyes, cherishing the feeling of his able tongue on her warm skin. He moved like a wave down her body like it was the most natural thing in the world, trailing kisses down between her breasts, her bellybutton, but stopped at the thin hem of her panties. Clarke twitched at the feeling of his hot breath over her equally hot core.

He looked up at her then, saw her face twisted in impatience. His fingers tugged on the panties with a painstaking diligence, tentatively pacing a kiss on her pubic mound. Just at that alone, Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, biting back a moan, fearing she would embarrassingly come right then and there. She hadn't realized how deprived of intimate human touch she had been until Bellamy came along to remind her. But finally, the panties were off, exposing her damp center to the air. With eyes squeezed shut, she felt two fingers lightly stroking her outer lips before giving them a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Electric shocks pulsated through Clarke's body, leaving her nearly paralyzed. Her heart thumped like a deep bass in her ears. One hand clutched his dark hair, nearly clawing his scalp. Part of her knew, as he slipped the most devilish of smirks into her, that _he_ knew she had never been gone down on before him. In any other circumstance, she would never stoke his ego like this. This time, it was well-deserved.

This time, all bets were off.

From the waist up, it felt as though Clarke had lost all feeling in her body, like every nerve ending was now rewired to the tip of his tongue, now teasing her clit gingerly. She had never been one to be at a loss for words, but her vocabulary had dwindled down to unintelligible hisses and gasps, because _god damn, he felt so good._

He kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs raw until she roughly guided him back to her center.

Bellamy looked up at her, roughly saying, "You good?"

Clarke almost wanted to laugh. "I'm good."

He dove back in, one strong hand pressing bruises into her hips while the other carefully slid into her. Almost instantly, further proving how long her dry spell had been, she clenched around him, thighs pressed together out of fear that this would be over much sooner than she wanted.

"Shh," He soothed like he was used to this reaction, pulling her knees apart while she bit into her lip hard enough to draw blood. "Shit, Clarke."

"You sound impressed." She joked through labored breaths.

He looked at her seriously. "I am."

If her cheeks weren't on fire already, they were now. What started out as challenge turned into something more than she had anticipated. If anything, she thought she'd be intimidated by Bellamy's sexual confidence, the way he was so sure in giving girls what they wanted. What shocked her was that _he_ was impressed by _her_. And all she had to do was take off her panties.

With just one finger and his mouth kissing her heat, it was enough to make her wiggle under his touch for what felt like forever. Slowly, he pushed her up a mountain and paused at the peak just to look at her expression, as if _he_ was worried he wasn't doing something right. But Clarke liked it — it gave her the chance to really look at him: his cheeks were as warm as the lantern in the corner, that smart mouth deliciously swollen, her juices dripping from the corner of his lips. It was the dirtiest, most exciting thing she had ever seen in her life.

He ditched his slow pace when he felt her impatience, moving with a skilled speed that wasn't frantic. Against her better judgement, she closed her thighs around his ears when his finger easily found her g-spot. It nearly sent her over the edge, but he managed to keep her on this side of the abyss long enough to hear her breathy gasps turn into cries.

"Jesus, Bell, do you want to hear me beg?"

He chuckled softly. The sound vibrated through her belly.

He flattened his tongue against her,, sighing along with her. Her fingers dug into his scalp, thighs quivering (because honestly she was surprised she was able to hold on this long). His movements became more erratic, finally letting go of his inhibitions to bring her even closer to her climax.

He leaned back the second she clenched around him tightly, nearly sobbing at the blissful release. Instead of looking down at him, she closed her eyes. The radio in the corner had fallen silent, only leaving the sound of their labored breaths to fill the hot and heavy atmosphere.

Unable to help herself any longer, she peeked through one eye. He was gazing at her with the gentlest of smiles in complete adoration. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to being looked at they way he was right then.

In that moment, Clarke would have never imagined how intimate an act like this could be for two people. How, in a world where fear is death, all she needed was someone to let her know she wasn't alone.

And maybe she was reading too deeply into this, but shit. It didn't feel like this was something he did often.

* * *

_a/n: YOOOO. so this definitely isn't the teen wolf fandom i'm used to. but damn, this show. bob morley gets me goin'. also, thanks to erin (o-seastarved) for helping me out with the songs! the first one is "try a little tenderness" by otis redding and the second one is "you belong to me" by sue thompson. erin also writes some kickass fics, so go check her out if i haven't satisfied your bellarke needs!_

_anyway, it's weak in the beginning. i know. i pretty much invested all of my talent into bellamy completely going to town on clarke's vagina. it happens._

_hope you enjoyed! i love hearing from people!_

_-soph_


End file.
